


Beginning To Be Protective

by outerealm



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outerealm/pseuds/outerealm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Hobbit Kink Meme a long time ago:</p><p>TL;DR: Bilbo gets exiled after the BotfA and returns to the Shire. Lobelia is protective of Bilbo and chewes the dwarves out for hurting him and daring to show their faces when they appear some time later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is a married (widowed) woman when Bilbo Baggins arrives back in the Shire. She has been for awhile now. She is proper, sharp, can be courteous when she puts her mind to it, and does not tolerate any king of dung in her life. Be it spoken, or the kind you use on your garden.

Her life is neat and orderly; she wakes up, fluffs her husbands (never more used) pillow, makes breakfast for her tween son and bids him good day as he runs out, and sews. Then, just before elevensies, she steps out with her best umbrella with a steel pole and carved wood handle. She arrives at Bilbo’s home, which already has its second place set out for her, and they trade thinly veiled insults until lunch, at which point she returns home.

She waits for a son who never comes home, and cooks enough to feed three instead of one.

Lobelia is quite content with her lifestyle. That is why she is furious when Bilbo disappears. When he reappears, she approaches at Elevensies like normal.

He breaks down crying in the middle of their discussion. Just one comment about marriage, one of their many visited topics, and he breaks like a warm crumpet out of the oven.

They are both middle-aged. She is married (to a ghost) and he is a confirmed bachelor. He is a ridiculous tweenager in love with a dwarf (why a big person anyways?) and got his heart broken.

It happens.

She doesn’t do comforting well. When the Incident happened (she cried and sobbed) she had still pulled out her favorite, best umbrella to arrive on Bilbo’s doorstep as always. Bilbo had been unusually kind (he had attempted to comfort her) but her sharp words quickly put that motion out of his head (he looked sad for her when she left).

It was only fair to return the favor, and she had awkwardly put her arm around him in comfort.

Bilbo leaned into Lobelia, and she leaned back.

Neither one of them has anyone to warm the beds and peel back the comforters, and fluff the pillows, but Lobelia has grown used to it, and does not mind. Bilbo has been clearly rejected. They will live and continue on.

Lobelia knows this territory, and Bilbo follows her example.

Within weeks, its like Bilbo has never left other then the odd piece of furniture reapparing in his home. The Brandybuck’s and Tooks come to visit. Bilbo will always remember the frosty discussion between Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and the Thain on top of his strawberry patch.

Lobelia doesn’t see him coming to her to complain. Honestly, you’d think that a journey like he’d described a few times would give a man a little backbone. Still. Lobelia sniffs as she adjusts her best hat, and smooth’s out the wrinkle in her dress.

The Took who had come with news goes pale when she picks up her favorite umbrella. He goes even paler when she twirls in in her fingers, and gives it a swish or two. She taps it against a wooden floor, watching the hole it makes with a smile.

The Took flees.

Lobelia spots them coming a good distance from Bilbo’s hole. She stands in the middle of the winding road. It will widened beyond her point, but where she stands there will be no passage, and makes them come to her. She isn’t sure how imposing of a sight she looks, in her fine dress and umbrella, but she knows very well how to put the terror in any living creature.

The dwarves, with their long beards, and stupid expressions, stop in front of her. She’s blocking the path after all. The leader, the one stupid enough to wear furs in the middle of summer instead of light cotton (and her already low opinion took a nosedive) stopped his horse, glaring down at her.

She glared down at him. He may be taller, but she still looked down her nose at him as if he were dust. He was worse then dust really- at least dust had a purpose. Dwarves did not- especially dwarves who broke Bilbo’s heart.

Not that she cares. Its simply that Bilbo makes the best crumpets, and Lobelia doesn’t want to find another place to go snatch them for free. Besides, Lobelia knows, just knows, that the real-estate value of her home will drop if Bilbo can’t take care of his house. (he was a comfort to a widow and she would do her best in return the only way she knew how)

She dismisses the Stupid One in furs with a flick of her eyes to look around the small company. There is one with a bald head and a long beard, and seems hopefully less stupid. “Might I ask what business you have here?”

Lobelia is certain that the one in furs is Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf that ordered Bilbo to leave. That means that his nephew, Kili was it?, is around nearby. And Kili meant that they had come to rub it in Bilbo’s face.

Thorin’s mouth opens.

Lobelia whips her umbrella around to hover only a hairsbreadth away from his mouth, so if he attempted to close it, he would have a mouthful of metal and fabric. She is very good at gagging little children (adults as well) in such a manner. “I am not addressing you Thorin Oakenshield. You can be quiet. You there. Bald-headed one. What is your business here?”

He looks surprised, and maybe smirks, just a little as he inclines his head to her. “I am Dwalin. I came with my King-“ He gestures to the slowly purpling dwarf, “To find Bilbo Baggins.”

To arrive unannounced on a Hobbits doorstep- and it wasn’t even dinner yet. Bilbo would’ve just wrapped up supper. “Visitors need to wait until elevensies if they wish to visit.”

Another dwarf in fur spoke up meekly, “But we came an awfully long way-“

“Elevensies.” Lobelia repeated firmly. “Now shoo.”

Thorin growls in fury. She’s sure he’d look much more imposing if he didn’t still have an umbrella stuffed in his mouth, as it isn’t just the dwarves who are stronger. Many are stronger then her. She knows how to use her weaker strength to her advantage. Her umbrella remains firmly gagging him.

Dwalin coughs, and nods. “So tomorrow at elevensies we may visit?”

“Who said anything about a ‘we’? The only one I have asked is you, Master Dwalin, and you will have to ask tomorrow if your companions may join.” Lobelia asks ruthlessly. She can’t expect dwarves to know hobbit customs. But still. They kicked Bilbo out. There isn’t much to be polite about.

They leave, the one who spoke up meekly leaving with his head hanging, the one in furs shaking in rage. He tries yelling at her, but she remains impassive. Her mind runs a mile a second though, and when he takes a step towards her, her hands tighten. Dwalin grabs his kings arm, and leaves towing him behind.

It's not until they are out of sight that Lobelia sighs as she relaxes, and lets the knife up one sleeve slid back into her pocket. (to protect another, one must protect oneself, and Lobelia will never back down from anyone or anybody)

Then she adjusts her hat and marches to Bilbo’s home to let him know that tomorrow he is coming to her place as she has a hole in her roof and it needs fixed. There are no if’s, ands, or buts. Simply work.

Bilbo looks out the window, to where he might have seen dwarves, and quietly agrees. (she burns in anger for him, and hides it beneath her haughty sniff and swirl of petticoats.)

(Dwalin is the handsomest of the lot)

(She does not like that thought. She is a married woman.)

( _to a ghost_ )


	2. Chapter 2

It is accepted hobbit standards to accept guests at elevensies, and then do work in the afternoon after lunch. It gives them time to visit, and if the visitor is unwanted, gives them a chance to get rid of their visitor.

Lobelia is marching towards the door shortly before elevensies, blocks the way so that only Dwalin may pass and stared gimlet-eyed at the others before they leave, and finishes the march to Bilbo’s home.

She arrives in a swirl of skirts, her second-best umbrella in hand. Her favorite and best umbrella is being soaked in a special solution to get off dwarven spit, and return the water-proofness of the fabric back to normal.

Lobelia primly sits down in her expected spot, Dwalin a few steps behind her. Bilbo is expecting her- and expecting a dwarf. Obviously not Dwalin as the two stop a few paces apart and stare at each other. She waits until knuckles go white, and still both of them say nothing.

Men.

Lobelia clears her throat sharply, forcing both to look at her. “Elevensies Bilbo.” It doesn’t come out nasty as it could- nor does it come out nice. Nice is not familiar territory for her like it is for Bilbo.

Besides, she still has a knife in her sleeves and pockets. Not that either of them have to know that. She likes her secrets- its what makes her a woman. (a wife is a different matter than a woman, but she is woman first, wife second, and her husbands knows. knew)

Both break, startled by her call. Bilbo is instantly all gracious host to her snarling comments, barbs and thinly veiled insults flying across the table over hot tea and crumpets. Dwalin prods the crumpet suspiciously, and looks around a bit mournfully. She whacks him with the tip of the umbrella against his leg, and takes a small sip of her tea to go with the crumpets.

Tea, crumpets, and fearful eyeing. This was one of the best elevensies she had yet.

“Perhaps before you comment on my crumpets Lobelia, you should think about the state of your garden.” Bilbo says dryly, a truly hideous insult. The state of your garden was indicative of many things, and her eyes go sharp and dark in response.

She could comment about his own garden, but it is impeccable as always except her and the Thains footsteps. So she goes after his cooking instead. "Says the hobbit who never learned how to cook properly."

"And yet you come every day just about for my crumpets."

Truly nasty territory they are entering. Don't insult a hobbits cooking... Or their feet. It is common manners. (they do it anyways, knowing how far they can push, but always pushing further, slowly and slower)

Dwalin looks up as Lobelia snorts. "Crumpets are about the only thing you can cook. There is a reason why you are a bachelor, and I am married." (not anymore)

The dwarf frowns at that comment, and rallies to Bilbos defense. "He was a good cook along the way, Bifur liked his food. And he did give advice to the trolls on how to cook a dwarf. Quick thinking there Baggins."

Lobelia looks at the dwarf, and looks back at Bilbo. He shrugs helplessly. "I had to stall them somehow. And roasting dwarves did offend my sensibilities. Much better to skin them first."

She cannot help the sharp laugh at that. Bilbo had more guts then he liked showing apparently, as she still hadn't seen this backbone of his. But guts, she was beginning to see. But still, what he said just offended her sensibilities.

"Skin them Bilbo? Nonsense, you'd get mighty tough meat if you did something like that. Look at this one right here, he's all muscle. All of his fat is against the skin. Lean meat like this should be grilled."

Bilbo tuts, perpetration of food making his tongue run away with him as Dwalin suddenly sits a little more on edge. "These were trolls Lobelia. They could hardly have a good griller, of any kind. They had one stick to roast them with and a fire."

She scoffs, eyes Dwalin in his discomfort and smiles inwardly. He will bring back this tale to the other dwarves. They will be uncomfortable as well, and it may just chase them away. Hopefully. (This is so fun and she doesn't want to stop) So she forges forward. "It would be rather hard to skin him, better to just shave everything off, wrap in in leaves and fire pit the body."

Bilbo looks thoughtful, curious. “Like a roasted pig then?"

Lobelia nods, and the dwarf looks affronted. (She should stop, but she doesn't know how so keeps going forward) "Put on some rosemary and thyme, rub some salt in, cook them with the insides still in, or we could always stuff him. Could probably fit another half of a dwarf in there."

The conversation gets better from there. Soon spices are being bandied across the table (see how good she is at showing how Bilbo actually knows how to cook despite her insistence that he cannot? isn't he a perfect match?)

( _Iisn't she?_ )

The dwarves cannot have him, they are too blind to see what they could have had, and so Bilbo will be in the Shire for the rest of his life. Alone. (quiet houses with no one to smile, no laughter, no joy, it was a slow death. One she took with her head held high)

(Bilbo might be able to escape it)

(She would be alone once more)

(The thought is terrifying)

Lunch strikes, and both break off their conversation. Lobelia picks up her hat, and announces she's come to collect on Bilbos agreement to fix her roof. There is surprise(respect) in Dwalin’s eyes as he realizes that she has just forced him out and back without so much as a word to Bilbo beyond a few mumbles.

She smiles at him like a knife, triumphant and biting. Tomorrow there will be a war, but this skirmish was won by Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and they both know it. He bows to her, she pulls Bilbo out before he can say a word, leaving behind a sharp comment about not lingering too much longer.

No sooner does she get him into her smaller, more cramped hobbit hole, does he break. Bilbo collapses into her comfortable couch, puts his head in her hands, and shakes. Lobelia hesitates. They say that practice makes perfect, but she thinks that comforting will only get weirder the more she tries. (She's wrong)

She gives him time. And an arm. One minute passes, two, three.. By the fourth minute he's pulled himself together. Just enough to scuff his feet against the wooden floor, and look at her. She looks at him narrow-eyed, makes mention of finding him some earth and wood to repair the roof.

He nods. She finds the materials right quick, and sends him chasing off after non-existent holes. Then she sits down in her overstuffed chair, picks up her umbrella and sharpens the tip.

The afternoon passes quietly. Hobbits are by nature quiet walkers, and Bilbo has no wish to stir up her wrath. Lobelia puts aside her umbrella, and prepares dinner. Bilbo wanders the small hobbit hole, running fingers along the solid rooftop.

A silence fell on the tiny hole, a calm, peaceful silence that actually shouldn't be happening. Lobelia dares anything to tell her that she cannot do it, for she has proven time and time again that she can.

The umbrellas tip is sharp enough to stick a pig by the time Bilbo feels ready enough to return to his own home. (to consider ones home unsafe is intolerable and Lobelia is next to the road to keep an eye out) Lobelia guards him back the short trip, carrying a basket under one arm under the pretense of going shopping.

There are no dwarves in the home. There is an axe, carefully and artfully, just screaming that it has been forgotten, propped in the corner next to the door.

Lobelia eyes it, the same as Bilbo eyes it. "I suspect the dwarf will be back for it, won't he?"

Bilbo nods hesitantly, and she burns a little more that a hobbit should ever not wish to receive guests. Honestly, if the dwarves were going to have to come back, they could of at least come back on their stomachs grovelling.

She plans to put them there before too much longer.

\--------

"How did it go Dwalin, did Bilbo say anything? May I go see him?"

"I was treated to an hour long discussion on how to properly cook, roast, and bake dwarves."

"..."

"I left behind my axe though. That gives me an excuse to come back tomorrow. Balin! I believe we need to talk."

"Oh? And just what are we to be talking about?"

"Politeness. I'm going to be the politest dwarf they've ever seen. That dragon lady can’t stop me if I fight her on her terms, now can she?”

“Do you suppose Dwalin’s alright in the head? I’ve never seen him look so... happy.”

“If it will get us into Bilbo’s home so that we may apologize, then he can marry the woman. I really don’t care. I just want to see Bilbo again. I must.”


	3. Chapter 3

The night passes peacefully. Lobelia sleeps with her sharpened umbrella at hand ready to whack anyone trying to sneak down the road and nearly takes her own sons head off. Lotho Sackville-Baggins ducks with the efficiency and speed of one who is far too used to dodging such things, and Lobelia twirls her umbrella to smack his rear instead as he slips into the hole.

He smirks at her, twirling a long wooden stick in his fingers to block the umbrella. They know each others moves inside and out now, a long dance they had picked up in the years of being only two. Umbrella and stick clash and thud as she chases him to his bed, and he in turn falls back.

They are not the most loving family. Not the most put-together family. But-

Lotho stands in his doorway, stick blocking the clout aimed for his ear, and asks, “What’s the news you dug into today ma?” ( _Why do you look so troubled, why are you up so late armed?_ )

“Hmph, just Baggins.” ( _Go to bed, it’s late, and you aren’t to know._ )

“I’ll be out again tomorrow, don’t wait up old hag.” ( _I’ll find it out if you don’t tell me. No matter what._ )

“Keep away from the edge where Men dwell you understand?” ( _Fine you stubborn child, it has to do with outsiders. Now bed and don’t you dare interfere._ )

“Hah, I’m going to go get mushrooms, not anything else.” ( _Strangers can’t come riding in if their horses are sick._ )

“You’d sooner get bit by Farmer Maggot’s dogs then you come home with any sort of food child.” ( _I have this under control, no need to interfere._ )

“I’ll bring home the biggest and best of them just for you .” ( _I do what I want. If you wish to wage war, then I’ll be your second._ )

“I’d like to see that! Don’t come crying to me when you come home with dog bites! I shan’t bandage you.” ( _Fine then you stubborn child, I will call for you when I need you. Now go to bed._ )

He disappears into his room, without even so much as a goodnight. Lobelia places her umbrella in its holder, and goes back to bed. She sleeps without waking, not minding the silent form that eased back into the hallways. His fingers ran across soft furniture, over carved, polished, scratched wood.

It was small, almost cramped with the amount of history in its halls.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins sighed as he settled onto the couch, staring at his mothers favorite umbrella. There was a compartment in the handle, one that only those who knew how to open it could do so.

Short, thick fingers ran across the soft blue feather. It was a blue feather, from a bird that only mate once in their entire lives. Once they had found their life mate, the tail feathers turned a bright blue. The birds were hard to find, and you had to catch and pluck the feather while both birds were alive. Otherwise, it would turn to an almost gray.

This blue feather was a soft, deep blue, with only the tiniest tint of gray. He heard that his father had managed to sneak up on a bird on its nest to pluck the feather. When he had presented it to Mother he wasn’t sure who was the most surprised- mom or the entire Shire.

Lotho sighed as he tucked the feather back into his mothers umbrella, and closed the casing. He knew that Mother had been frantic in her own way when Bilbo had disappeared, and insisted that he was alive, delaying the auction long enough that he could arrive when they were trying to sell his stuff. That had caused a bit of a ruckus.

But honestly, Bilbo Baggins- a Baggins instead of a Took was off busy stirring trouble in the Shire. Must be Baggin's mothers blood.

Lotho set the umbrella back carefully, staring at the symbol of his mother for a long moment. The tip was sharp- a sign of Mom’s beginning of a war. A war that had started while he was gone. Silently the hobbit padded out the door, towards the edge of the Shire where trouble lurked.

\------------------

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is guarding the road again when Dwalin walks up completely unarmed. He is wearing furs this time, and her low opinion of dwarves takes another nosedive. She thought she had hit bedrock before, but they seem to be reaching new levels.

“Furs? Truly? In the summer? Honestly, keep well enough away from me so I won’t have to smell you when you sweat like a pig.”

Dwalin looks down at his fur overcoat. “It’s supposed to make me look good.” It comes out faintly accusing, as if he cannot understand why she is not impressed. She’d be more impressed if he had an ounce of common sense really.

The grey streaks and tattoos are certainly impressive enough. The fur is overkill, especially as the summer sun began to truly set in. He would roast to death under an hour if he tried to work in the fields. Not that he was suited to working in the fields she reckoned- he was too thick, and too heavy. He’d end up trampling more crops then he would reap.

She twirled her umbrella, and tucked it beneath her arm. She was a gentle-hobbit, which meant that she and her kin owned the lands nearby. Her farmers tithed some of their money to her, and she in turn protected the lands. Bilbo, the Tooks, the Brandybuck’s- they all did the same. She knew fields and growing, and while they may not make as much money as others, her people were content.

Dwalin looked at her askance, “I cam unarmed today lady- there’s no need for a dagger.”

He knew that she was checking it?

She hid her surprise beneath her haughty sniff and toss of the head. “There is always the need for a dagger.”

His mouth opened, and closed. He had to give her that, didn’t he? There was only the sound of one set of footsteps as he clomped along in his giant boots. The dust of the road rose with each of his footsteps, and she uses her umbrella as a parasol.

The dagger remains firmly within easy reaching distance.

Bag-End arrives in view, and Dwalin coughs into a fist, drawing her eyes towards him. “Lady-“ She will to strangle him if he calls her by a title that she is not one more time, “Are you staying for Elevensies as well?”

“Of course.” She sniffs. “I always arrive for elevensies. I haven’t missed a day in over ten years.” It’s a warning to the dwarf- if he or any others try to sneak past her, she will know.

Though today she may not be able to stay the entire day- it was shopping day today. But Baggins needed someone to make sure he didn’t get murdered or kidnapped by dwarves. Honestly.

“That’s a long time.” Dwalin admits.

“I’m a married woman.” Lobelia says haughtily, “I may do as I wish.”

Dwalin’s jaw tightened. “Your husband doesn’t mind you visiting a bachelor’s home unaccompanied?”

Her eyes narrow at the merest mention that she has to stay home and cannot visit who she pleases. Lotho had always known that she needed someone to sharpen her tongue on, and Bilbo Baggins had always been the one to keep up with her and insult her right back. “He knows me.” She says simply (he’s buried and cold)

Dwalin looks away, staring at the door. “It seems to me Lady that you could do a mite better then a man who stays behind.”

Rage burns and curls around her stomach. Her umbrella moves to jab him sharply between the shoulder blades. “You have no right to speak on my life Master Dwalin and if you attempt again, I will make you regret it.”

She’s pretty sure she has drawn blood, but brings her umbrella down to march into Bilbo’s Hobbit Hole. The Baggins has enough set out for three, crumpets, tea, and a slab of roasted beef. Lobelia swipes it before Dwalin can so much smile at it and politely takes the closest chair to the door- the biggest, sturdiest one.

Dwalin eyes the tinier one that she normally takes, and winces.

Bilbo watches this little play with wide eyes- Lobelia knows that he knows that she is furious. It is a cold fury, one that she has every intent of drawing out and savoring. For an entire hour, every time Dwalin so much as opened his mouth, she cut him off.

She makes sure to compliment Bilbo’s garden.

Bilbo looked at the garden like he was wondering how best to dig it up. Give an honest piece of praise, then suddenly it was being taken apart to every little piece. Noon rolled around, and Lobelia stood from her seat, Dwalin remaining sitting.

She looks to Bilbo- Bilbo looks terrified of the idea of being left alone with a dwarf. She’s tired, and still needs to go shopping, so she goes to her next best idea. “Are you coming Bilbo?”

He blinks, surprised, and takes a few moments to catch up. “Shopping? Ah yes, the fair is today, isn’t it?”

He collects his shopping basket, as she picks up her umbrella and unfolds her bag from where she had tucked it away. Dwalin pulls himself to his feet and folds his arms across his chest. “Bilbo.”

The Baggins squeaks, and attempts to escape out the door. Lobelia blocks the doorway after him- the dwarf is bigger and has longer arms. He grabs the door, and forces it close enough that Bilbo can’t actually escape from his home (she will kill Dwalin as soon as she can get her knife out) and says again, “Bilbo.”

Lobelia is not happy to be caught between two bodies, especially when a face full of fur is pressed against her nose so she jerks her knee up and is rewarded with a pained grunt. Then she head-butts him in the chest forcing him a step back. The door is jammed shut, and her eyes catch the tattoos across hands and fingers, intriguing and mysterious.

The little scuffle they were having ends when Dwalin picks her up and places her to one side. Her shriek of outrage is underscored by Bilbo’s shout- “Look here Bilbo Baggins. I would just like to talk to you-“

“No! No, no and double no!” Bilbo Baggins snipes back, heading for the backdoor while Lobelia tried to collect her wits. Head-butting Dwalin is like running into a brick wall- painful, and apparently ineffective really.

“Now look here, I spent five hours last night trying to learn how to be properly polite-“

“You do a miserable job at it dwarf!” Lobelia shouts after him, regaining wits enough to start wedging open the jammed door. Bilbo can avoid Dwalin only for so long in his own home. Better to get the door open- sunlight spills into the building, and Lobelia sighs in relief.

“Lady-“

“Don’t call me unnecessary things! I am Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and that is all.” Lobelia snaps back as Bilbo bolts out the door like a rabbit. She stands in the doorway, fully prepared to have a screaming match with the dwarf.

Bilbo pauses, stricken by the fact that he is abandoning her to the wolves. She shoo’s him on with a flap of her hand, and straightens her skirt with a few fingers. “I just want to know if its alright if I bring Bofur with me next time!”

Bilbo stops in his retreat. Lobelia crosses her arms and guards the door as he cautiously takes a few steps forward. “Just Bofur?”

“If that’s what you wish. Though Kili-“

“No.” Bilbo flinches as he looks away. “Not Kili.”

Dwalin sighs as he runs his broad hand across his smooth head. “He wants to see you.”

“If he wanted to see me, then he would not of agreed with his uncle to send me away.” Bilbo snipes back. Lobelia smirks. Anger is always good. It kept you going when all else is stripped from you. She watches as Dwalin rolls his shoulders back against the words, mouth tightening. Lobelia nods sharply.

“Thorin… Thorin wasn’t in his right mind Bilbo. The gold-sickness, along side the Arkenstone…”

Bilbo shook his head, on the other side of the door. Outside, in the sunshine and in the rolling meadows of the Shire. “It was not that alone. And you know that.”

Dwalin snorts dryly. “All I know is that I’ve spent several months having to babysit those two brothers and convincing them they must wait until they have completely healed before they are allowed out after Bilbo.”

Lobelia doesn’t know about dwarven culture, but she’s pretty certain that this is a good sign. Bilbo peeks around Lobelia’s shoulder, a tiny sliver of hope in his eyes. “You did?”

Dwalin nods sharply, firmly. Lobelia takes a deep breath. She has not yet seen any sign of apology from these dwarves, but Bilbo is so hopeful, and she is willing to listen to him for now. Two dwarves tomorrow.

One dwarf at a time.

(it will break eventually and Bilbo will be at the middle of it)

(there is no telling if it will be good or bad)

(she suspects bad)

( _but hopes his dreams come true_ )

Dwalin and Bilbo end up staying behind to discuss terms and conditions of dwarves coming to visit. Lobelia goes on ahead to do her shopping, and struggles with the bags full of food in the dark until she arrives home. It is after midnight, and she sighs in relief as she puts it all away.

She does not look forward to tomorrow, but checks her umbrella tip again. It is sharp enough.

\----------

Nori prowled around the outskirts of the small Hobbit village- it was all underground, and he stood out, but even in places like the Shire, there was a darker, seedier element… if he could just find it. He was pretty sure it had to be around here somewhere.

A Hobbit’s laugh echoed from above him, and Nori twisted to find a hobbit sitting on a tree branch and looking down at him. “What on earth are you looking for stranger?”

He was looking for information, of any kind. “Information of course. Roads, streets, people-“

“Oooh?” The hobbits drawl changes, to a just-right pitch. A pitch that promises information if gold exchanges hands. “People huh? I suppose I know where and how to hook you up to that sorta information.”

“Do you now?” Nori says, mind juggling the pros and cons. It’s almost too good to be true, but-

“Of course, you’ll have to pay a fee.” The hobbit says with a greedy light to his eyes. Nori knows that light. So he makes the deal.

“Lead on Hobbit. If I might be so bold to ask your name?”

“It’s Lotho. Just Lotho.” The Hobbit grins as he and Nori vanish off into the growing dusk.


	4. Chapter 4

A week passes by in a blink of an eye.

Lobelia arrives as always in a swirl of skirts and with her tongue battle-ready. The dwarves part for her, like waves before a ship, despite the fact that she is shorter then all of them.

Over the week, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Dori and Ori are allowed in the Hobbit hole. Lobelia is there for each of their introductions, and sees them tripping over themselves in apologies within the hour-long visit.

Bilbo, she thinks, is far too soft on them. If it were up to her, she would not allow them to even cross her doorstep until they were willing to apologize properly- coming up with enough food to replace all of his frustration and sadness, heads bowed.

Still.

Lobelia taps her bare, large feet against the wooden floor, making sure not to leave footprints. And every day at elevensies, she sits down with Bilbo, and the dwarves are treated to an hour long discussion about gardens.

“So then Bilbo, I noticed you changed your fertilizer. Such a shame.”

“Yes, this one has a much better smell.”

“I know. I thought the last smell suited you just fine.”

“Well, it attracted too many flies. I was hoping that by changing it, it might shoo them away. I can see that I was wrong.” Bilbo sniped back.

The dwarves are watching this like a game of ball- heads turning back and forth to watch as Bilbo and Lobelia snipe and fight purely with words. They nod at some of the insults, the ones they can actually pick up, look confused at others- but are quickly learning what not to say to Bilbo.

Lobelia supposes that some of the insults could be compliments if it weren’t for the tones behind them. Sometimes though, not often, Bilbo lets slip with a dwarven insult. Lobelia replies in kind with a truly hobbit insult that flies over the dwarves heads, as she takes a dainty bite of her crumpet.

Her son Lotho has been busy for the week, coming in with bits of information about dwarves, and their customs. Also their food preferences, how many ponies they had, and how there were bags full of what he was pretty sure was gold. He may or may not of swiped something.

Lobelia says nothing, other then to crossly wonder why they would bother bringing such a useless metal all this way unless it was to buy Bilbo’s apology-food. Lotho slips in and out more often, his bare feet sneaking across creaking wooden boards.

And somewhere in this week, Lobelia stops cooking food enough for three. Instead she cooks for two, herself and her son. She doesn’t have time to cook more then that. While she may claim not to have missed elevensies for over ten years, the elevensies used to be once a week instead of every day.

Today is an especially bad day to be lingering.

Bilbo seems to be handling himself well enough, so mayhap she could leave early- “Lobelia?” Bilbo is close- and Dwalin is far closer, his large hand lightly resting on her shoulder in concern. She blinks, and closes her eyes for a second, collecting her thoughts.

“What do you want?”

“You stopped answering me a few minutes back and seemed to be thinking. I just wanted to see if all of your spuds were under or if they were being turned up.” The hobbitness slang astounded a few of the dwarves, trying to parse out Bilbo’s meaning.

Lobelia pushed up from the chair, avoiding Dwalin’s hand to pick up her covered basket. Today she should have skipped, but she had made a promise (if only to herself) to be here until Bilbo no longer needs her.

The hobbit hole is warm, and the dwarves are uneasy in her presence, though Bilbo seems to draw comfort in having both the dwarves nearby, and Lobelia. But she heard from Lotho that dwarves are secretive folk- perhaps they would not apologize until she leaves.

She hopes that is the case, so she will take her leave today. “I have important business over at the Hills.”

Bilbo stills, sets down the teapot very, very carefully, before looking at the basket. “I’m sorry, I forgot that today was the day, here, wait just a minute, and I’ll go-“

Lobelia sniffs dryly, nose rising up into the air. “I’m already late.”

“I made black-current tarts.” Bilbo says softly. “He always loved those, especially mother’s recipe.”

Within a few minutes, Lobelia is slipping hot tarts into her basket next to the large pair of shears, and hiking up the road. (Dwalin watches her go from the window, frowning) She is certain that they all must be staring- she has left behind her umbrella. She always does.

She leaves behind everything when she goes to the Hills.

Lobelia crests over the hill to the sight of graves laid out in neat rows. There are food offerings left on top of the graves, flowers with meanings. Adonis, Anemone, arbutus, asclepiad, rosemary, a branch of a weeping willow-

And nearby the blackberry bushes, where their brambles slowly crept and twined around the graves, was Otho Sackville-Baggins grave. It was not as well tended as the others, but only a force of nature could keep the bushes and brambles back. Lobelia was that force of nature as she placed the black-current tarts atop of the grave next to her best blackberry scones.

Then she drew out a bush clipper nearly as big as her, and started on the bush.

The sun beats down mercilessly, and it’s well after noon before her son joins her from where he was working on the other side. They both are covered in scratches, and have more branches then they do berries, but there are a few berries within, and they eat of the meager meal with a feel of a job well done.

Absently Lobelia tugs a thorn from out of the sole of her foot, wiggling her toes lightly to dislodge the caked and built-up dirt. Lotho swallows a small berry, still hard and a little too tart.

It is still one of the better meals of the year. Hard work makes every meal taste good, no matter what it is. Mother and son wash the dirt off of the smooth stone spire, running fingers over the carved name, and the empty space waiting for her.

She thinks that the space will have to wait for a bit longer.

Together, they bundle and place the long, flexible pieces of wood to the side. Lotho takes off to who knows where, and Lobelia gathers her now empty basket and starts off down the road.

She must pass by Bilbo’s home before she can reach hers.

It is warm, brightly lit, and she can hear the sounds of merry-making in the growing dust. Bilbo in there as well, she can spy through the windows as she passes by. He sits on a chair, and smokes his pip, and there are more dwarves there then what originally started, but he is smiling and happy.

Her lips may of curled as well, but she will fight anyone to the death who dares suggest it.

Whatever else, she and Bilbo Baggins are not friends. Not in any Hobbit sense. She steals his silverware, he gets it back. She snipes and insults, he insults right back, weaving and crafting far better ones then she ever could.

There is a steady sound of footfalls further down the road, which means another dwarf is approaching. Lobelia presses forward, using the darkness to hide her arms, until she is standing in the road, two dwarves slowly making their way towards her.

One has light hair, the other darker. She eyes them both, and starts in surprise when the darker haired one tilts his head to the side, and the peek of a blue feather appears in his clothing. He must be Kili- the one Bilbo loved.

Loved enough to give a blue feather.

Well.

She hadn’t heard about that part.

That suddenly made everything both worse and much, much better.

Better as in, Kili still had the feather Bilbo had given him. There may yet be a chance.

Worse as in the one you practically considered your betrothed throwing you out.

Lobelia crosses her arms as she stands in the middle of the road. “Kili Oakenshield.”

The dark-haired one flinches as he looks at her, eyes going wide as she seems to materialize out of the gloom. She is shorter then him, but every inch of her is crackling energy ready to steamroll this youngling in front of her. Her eyes flash fire. “Y-You must be Sackville-Baggins.”

Fili hisses something, but Lobelia ignores it to focus completely upon Kili. “I warn you dwarf. If you lot hurt Bilbo Baggins one more time, you’ll have to deal with _me_.”

Fili pipes up, “I thought you and Bilbo didn’t get along.”

She sniffs haughtily as with a swirl of her skirts she moves on. Her voice lingers after- “Just because you don’t like someone doesn’t mean you can’t protect him. And the Shire is under my protection.”

The two are left behind as she silently vanishes into the gloom.

Her home is dark, but a secret weapon is tucked in the corner, and Lobelia pulls it out to sharpen and polish it. Then, she settles down to wait, a single candle burning in the small, round window.

She wonders what Bilbo is doing and saying now, if she will arrive tomorrow to an empty hole once more. Or, if Bilbo will get his heart broken.

Lobelia gets her answer an hour later when a timid knock comes at the door, and a dry-eyed, but still dead inside Bilbo walks in. She gives him the guest bed, tells him to get some rest as all visitors must earn their keep, and waits for the dwarves.

They are not too far behind heavy footfalls approaching her door with enough noise to wake a herd of cattle. She gives one last sharpen to the weapon, and when there comes a knock at the door (surprisingly quiet compared to the footsteps) she yells, “No visitors.”

“Is Bilbo with you? I just want too-“

“No visitors!” Lobelia yells again, and hefts her weapon onto her shoulders. She’s only had a few days with it, and it took her a day to find proper balance. She hefts it like a pro as she strides to the doorway.

There is another knock, and Lobelia throws the door open to bring Dwalin’s battle axe to a thundering smash right in front of her, skirts flying in the self-made wind.

\-------

Ori nearly fainted as a battle axe, one that he recognized quite well actually, thudded mere centimeters away from Kili’s nose. Fili yanked his brother back as the dwarves retreated a step from the doorway.

The tiny hobbit lass, smaller and frailer then any dwarf who would have trouble wielding Dwalin’s weapons in the first place planted her feet firmly in the doorway, eyeing them all. “No. Visitors.”

Balin leaned close to Dwalin, “Isn’t that your axe?”

“Aye.”

“It wasn’t that sharp or gleaming when you left it behind was it?”

“Nope.” Dwalin sighed like he was some kind of love-sick dwarfling. “Isn’t she good? Look at that stance! And the way she holds the weapon- she’s found the center of balance. A little small to be carrying it, but none will be passing her in these close quarters.”

Ori decided that Dwalin had lost his mind. He must have. It was the only reason why he could think of the rough, sturdy dwarf to be looking at the hobbit lass with what looked to be like hearts in his eyes.

Balin seemed to see them as well, as he said, “You didn’t-“

“Well, I can’t exactly choose, can I? Besides, there are far worse to love.”

Dwalin watches the hobbit lass like Kili watches the burglar.

Ori wondered how exactly one wrote in a book about how the scariest dwarf and terrifying hobbit fell in love without it overshadowing the prince and the burglar. He figures he cannot.

So he doesn’t. He chooses instead to look at the furious woman standing in the doorway, giving them a tongue lashing that he doubts any of the Durin family have ever gotten before in their lives.

(And if Dwalin sighs and looks at her with a fierce tenderness, no one says a word. Mostly because they are afraid of being slaughtered. By both sides)

They all feel their bowels quake when Kili admits he returned the blue feather, and she hurtles the axe at his head. Dwalin attempts to get a few words out in Kili’s behalf but she threatens to disembowel him, and he too retreats to screamed abuse to never come back.

Kili decides that he’s braver then everyone else and charges the doorway shouting for Bilbo. There is no answering call from the back, unlit hallways, only Lobelia’s nasty glare and a gleaming axe.

Kili retreats a few steps beyond her reach, as she breaths heavily, stamina worn down but still enough energy and anger to move with quick, silent steps to murder them all. Ori thinks she can do it. That she will do it too if they don’t find some way of stopping her _now_.

The battle axe hums through the air, a sweet song of death and destruction- to abruptly stop as there is a spark of fire, and Gandalf the Gray arrives on the scene. He very nearly gets his head chopped off for his troubles.

Lobelia will always remark later how it's a pity she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: my reference I used for flower meanings (try looking at lobelia, you'll learn something new) http://www.eaglespiritministry.com/works/flower.htm


	5. Finally Settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how tardy this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that Lotho was definitely on the side of Saruman during the war. He was also killed and probably eaten by Grima Wormtongue. But, I decided to focus on his darker side, and kinda mute it a little. Make it more in line with the movie verse.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is pretty certain that she could have murdered and hidden all of the bodies if Gandalf hadn’t arrived. It wouldn’t of been so hard. She and Bilbo had already agreed on which spices would make the dwarves taste best, and there was to be a birthday party soon. Hobbits everywhere could enjoy the taste of fresh dwarf meat.

And there would not be at least ten dwarves in her cramped hobbit hole looking anxiously to where Gandalf and Kili had vanished into the room after a great deal of convincing, some sassing, and some begging of Bilbo.

So Lobelia stands and stews in the middle of her living room. She rests her hands against the axe that may or may not be as big as her, and waits. In this low light, the dwarves can see the scratches up and down her arms, but say nothing.

Dwalin frowns, fingers tracing over the metal armor and weapons on his hand. Then he is the one who dares to ask- “What happened to your arms?”

She snarls wordlessly at him, and continues her guard of the hallway to keep dwarves from creeping down it like the stupid thieves they are. Dwalin doesn’t stop, he asks again, “Your arms. What happened to them?”

Lobelia owes him no answer.

But he does have a mighty-fine axe, so she decides she could answer him that. “I was cutting down blackberry brambles.”

“From where? Why on earth would you do such a thing?” Dwalin demands.

“Because it’s a grave,” Comes the long drawl from the doorway, and Lobelia smiles brilliantly as her son slips into the room. Many of the dwarves start, but the one with the starfish headdress suddenly look between the two with startled recognition, moving to his feet.

Dwalin draws himself to his full height, the top of his head nearing the ceiling and twice as broad. Lobelia may be married (and the thought is slipping her mind more often then not now) but she can appreciate that fine body.

Lotho slips through the dwarves, and grins at her as well. Their eyes are battle bright, and he’s silently asking how best to help her. She answers in kind by flicking her hands to the kitchen. “Your food is on the counter.”

He nods, leans forward to be affectionate family by planting a kiss on her cheek. “Of course. Thank you.”

She smiles back (and it is a hollow greeting then their lively fight at night) and the one with the starfish hair swallows his words to watch as Lotho slips into the kitchen and comes out again munching on a cool roll stuffed with butter and honey. At least half of the dwarves watch him as he settles down next to her, slowly savoring every bite of food.

There is betrayal (or respect? The same kind Dwalin has when he looks at her?) in the star-fish headed one. “I thought your name was Lotho.”

“It is.” Lotho agrees cheerfully. “Lotho Sackville-Baggins.” His arms don’t have as many scratches, and he changed into a long-sleeved shirt to hide them. He has always favored his father, with lighter hair then Lobelia’s, and sharp, weasel eyes. He lifts a cup, a metal cup that had no business in Lobelia’s home, with what looked like dwarvish runes carved on it towards the dwarf. “Thank you for your business master Nori.”

He cackles, and sips from the cup. Nori makes a disgusted noise, that sounds much like the word tricked, and there may be a tiny smile on the edge of his lips hidden within beard.

It isn’t much, but it is there. Lobelia unobtrusively leans on her son, not enough for anyone to truly notice. Except Dwalin’s face has gone dark as rain clouds, and his arms cross. Nori as well frowns, slightly.

Lotho and Lobelia draw a little closer together, Lotho slipping several knives into her dresses pockets with as light of fingers as a hobbit can have. He has been preparing something- perhaps even called the wizard himself.

“I’m certain that the cup was originally in my bags.” Nori states, and Lotho shrugs easily, face betraying nothing.

“It was just lying out.”

“There were three locks.”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“I asked you about the Sackville-Baggins. And the Baggins.”

“And I told you the truth. The Baggins are a highly respected family, that don’t go out on nasty adventures. Cold, hard, wet things adventures are. Until Bungo went and married a Took, and his son went off on an adventure of his own.” Lotho took another bite. “And everyone knows the Sackville-Baggins. They are the terror of the Shire, nasty piece of work they are.”

Absently he licks the honey off of his thumb. Lobelia snorts dryly. “Is something the matter?” He asks innocently. “Goodness knows we’ve worked hard for that title.”

“We have,” Lobelia admits. “No need for everyone to know though.”

“Of course not. Still, from the sounds of it-“ A soft crash, that the sharp pointed ears caught, “Bilbo Baggins is about to go riding off with the dwarves again.”

The dwarves all crowd together to get a look, as Gandalf emerges from the room, looking exhausted but pleased. “Honestly, out of all of the things to be called for.” He mumbles, and Lotho laughs jagged-sharp.

“It’s a Took’s birthday tomorrow old coot- I hope you have your fireworks ready.” Lotho snaps back, “Besides, don’t forget, you reap what you sow.” Gandalf sent hobbits out on adventures, and had to deal with the whole in-love and misunderstandings that came from it.

“I know thank you. And my fireworks will be quite the show I believe.” Gandalf smiles around his pipe, and Lobelia takes charge.

“Good. Now that this is all settled, then you can get all of these dwarves OUT OF MY SMIAL!”

So saying, she finally chased the lot of them out using her brand new axe. Dwalin certainly hadn’t claimed it yet, and Lobelia doesn’t offer. The dwarves find themselves out on the road in short order, with Lotho smirking from the window.

Nori tips his head to Lotho, who waves languidly back as they easily make their way through the darkness. Their eyes seem to be glowing in the darkness, used to far darker caves. Dwalin lingers in the doorway, eyes on her and her son.

She is no stupid fool, she knows affection when she sees it.

(it scares her)

Her chin lifts as she stares impassively at him, her son slinking up to stand next to her. Dwalin frowns more, looking between the two.

There is a noise that suspiciously sounds like a bed creaking desperately, and Lobelia tutts as she sighs. She will make them wash the bed sheets before they leave. Nori appears at Dwalin’s side, needling, “Come on then, leave the two lovebirds.”

Dwalin growls at him, and Lotho leans forward to drawl, “Pleasure doing business with you Nori.”

Dark eyes narrow down at the Hobbits head, and he twists to look at Nori. “What have you been doing?”

“Information. Trading.” Nori grins thorn-sharp, “And some light-fingering.”

Lobelia sniffs. “If you wish to discuss things like that, then do it out of my ear range.”

Lotho laughs at her, “But I learned from the very best.” She snorts, and smirks a little.

“You did.”

Dwalin throws his hands up in exasperation. “Thieves! I’m surrounded by thieves and crooks, burglars- I wouldn’t have thought of you doing the same.”

Lobelia glares at him, placing fists on hips. It almost shames her, what he says, but she is a Sackville-Baggins, and is named Lobelia. Everyone in all of The Shire knows very well the meaning of her name, and she lives up to it quite well. “I’m not a Baggins. And you hired a Baggins to be your burglar! What else do you expect?”

Dwalin’s jaw tightens, as he stares down at her, she glares up- she has no reason to apologize for who and what she is. Lotho nudges her shoulder, and she turns her heated glare upon him. He smiles and shakes his head, indicating that it wasn’t worth fighting for. They will leave with Bilbo in tow soon enough.

And she will be left all alone in her empty smial.

Might as well have fun while she can. “If you wanted a proper burglar, you should have asked the Sackville’s. Their name is Sackville for a reason. If you want a smart hobbit, go to the Brandybuck’s. Mind you, they have morals and manners, so don’t be expecting too much out of them.”

Dwalin mouths the words, before looking at her. “You claim to have none?”

Lobelia crosses her arms, gesturing to the axe. “What do you think?”

He looks beyond her to where Bilbo and Kili talked, and were probably having a tumble from the creak of the springs and moan of wood. Then, dark eyes turned back to her. Sharp. Thinking. Knowing. “Morals and Manners.”

Lobelia doesn’t like that look. It’s a look that says that Dwalin is finding some fluffy bit to her crusted soul, and she has long burnt her loaf in the oven. Once people thought that you were good and kind, they started having expectations of you that were hard to fulfill. Much easier to be nasty.

Much easier to surprise people when they think they have a handle on your personality.

Lotho looks between the two, and Lobelia can practically feel him bristling at whatever might be happening. Nori smirks as Lotho takes a step forward- the small hobbits don’t intimidate Dwalin.

But Dwalin steps back, and it’s this odd square, more of a triangle really. Or a line. The two hobbits stare at the two dwarves, the silence growing more and more awkward as it stretches.

Then there is a pleased scream from the bedroom, and Lobelia hefts her new little baby to go kick out the annoying hobbit and dwarf. There may be a bit of awkwardness, a rather stunned blush, and some shrieks of surprise, but Lobelia knows what a man looks like- she had both husband and son. She tosses them both out with their clothes mostly in order.

Dwalin is still lingering in the doorway, but Nori has distracted Lotho into further into the darkness. They stood next to her small, well-tended garden, talking quietly and sharing a bag of pipeweed. Nori smirks at Kili as the dwarf and Hobbit stumble by, the hobbit hiding his ashamed blush in Kili’s shoulder, and the young dwarf’s smile not dimming one whit.

Dwalin lends them his giant fur cloak, and the two swim off towards Bag-End.

Lobelia sighs tiredly. It is late, and she has spent all of her energy on dwarves. She gently places the axe on the table, listening to the wood creak and groan from the weight, and stretches a little.

Dwalin turns to eye Lotho. “Your husband seems content to go wandering off.”

Lobelia doesn’t, can’t stifle the laugh at that thought. She is tired, sleepy, and Bilbo will be gone within the week, along with all of the dwarves. None would linger here, not when the reason why they came goes willingly back with them. “He’s not my husband. That’s my son Lotho.”

He frowns, and the full weight of his stare is upon her. “And your husband? Where is he?”

“Beneath bramble and berry, a carved spire stating his name on The Hills.” Lobelia said softly, quoting a line of a poem inscribed on the small gates that surrounded the Hills. It had been written by a Baggins once, many years ago. For Baggins, while being most known for their respectability and how they rarely did anything surprising, had a gift with words.

Tales, poems, scholarly pursuits- just go to a Baggins to get your words in order. The Brandybuck’s may be smarter in a more mercenary sense, but Baggins had the love of books and words few had period. And a bit more common sense then some hobbits.

“Dead Lady?” There is sorrow in his voice that she bristles at, and she whirls on him.

And there is sorrow in his eyes, but despite her search, she finds no pity. It is what keeps her from telling him to leave immediately. “Aye, dead. No less my husband for it though. I made my vows and I will keep them.”

Except when she doesn’t. Which is more often then not. Not that Otho had been the worlds easiest Hobbit to live with, but neither was she. They ran their rough edges against each other, forcing each other and themselves to change mutually, learning how to walk as one. Then Otho went off and got himself killed, and Lobelia had been floundering on what to do ever since. Hobbits rarely became widows so young. Nobody had known what to do with her.

She had decided on her own that life went on, and arrived at Bilbo’s doorstep like always. Hobbits decided to follow her example, and here she was. In a good dress filled with thorns, a gleaming axe that was now quite firmly hers, and a tall dwarf leaning against her door frame and filling the entire thing.

Oh, and her tongue-sharpener leaving soon.

Lobelia wondered if the good outweighed the bad. Sharp, shiny axe vs. Bilbo Baggins.

She’d take the axe any day.

At least it came with less baggage then _Baggins_ did.

Dwalin cast a glance over his shoulder, to where Nori and Lotho were disappearing into the night. “Nori… Isn’t the best of people.”

“Neither are we. Lotho knows how to take care of himself, and I know exactly where to go if I need to extract vengeance.” Lobelia says simply. Dwalin nods, taking her word for it, and eyes her again.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow. Thor- The King has stayed too long, and since his heirs came with him, Daine Ironfoot is undoubtedly mired in a political mess.” He smiled dryly. “I’d like to meet anyone who can negotiate their way through that mess.”

Lobelia thinks Bilbo probably could, but says nothing out loud. She knows the importance of information, and if they don’t think Baggins can do it, then all the more they will be surprised if (when) he could.

Lotho and Nori have long disappeared into the night be the time Dwalin shifts again. He walks to where she has settled down the axe, running his fingers across the smooth metal and unknown runes. “This is a twin-axe you know.”

Eyebrows go up.

“I’ll find another set. I’d feel better if you kept this though.”

“Who said that I was giving it back anyways? It’d be a shame to leave this mighty fine weapon in a corner.” Lobelia demanded, hands on her hips. Dwalin smirks at her.

“You got an eye for weapons.”

“Just a few things, here and there.” Lobelia said, “Things I picked up from my own experience.” Dwalin nods, still impressed.

“I could teach you.” the dwarf answers, and Lobelia stares impassively at him.

“You are returning to your mountain homes, are you not? I am no Took, I don’t wander paths looking for adventure. The Shire is my place, and my home.” She cannot imagine leaving the Shire, for all of its faults. It is hers to protect.

“Nor may I abandon my home. I- we fought too hard to abandon it now.” Dwalin says slowly. Neither can think of leaving their homes, leaving it unprotected.

Lobelia sighs, “Then we are at an impasse, are we not?”

Dwalin nods, eyes on the axe on her table, sharp, gleaming, polished. Lobelia doesn’t offer to give it back, though the thought crosses her mind. She bites her tongue and waits as he taps the runes carved on it. “Grasper.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her name is Grasper. Keep her well for me.”

Lobelia looks to the axe, murmuring, “Grasper.” It is a steady, good name for an axe she thinks, especially a battle axe meant for splitting heads instead of wood. Dwalin looks at her, a spark of the same thing Lotho used to look at her with in his eyes.

She thinks it a shame that both of them are such stubborn beings, unwilling to change. If she weren’t Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and just Lobelia Bracegirdle, she might’ve followed him.

She isn’t.

She won’t.

That is what she tells herself as Dwalin gravely presses a kiss on her forehead and leaves quickly.

That is what she tells herself as in the morning she hears the clop of ponies passing by her home, and the teasing words being thrown back at Bilbo Baggins.

That is what she tells herself as she fingers the shaft of Grasper thoughtfully, staring at the road.

She won’t ever leave the Shire permanently… but, well- She has never missed an elevensies. And Lobelia doesn’t plan on doing so any time soon.


	6. Traveling to Erebor

One year passes. Bag-End is left empty, but in good order. The Gamgee’s continue to tend to the garden. Lobelia passes by the empty, dark hole without comment. The Tooks make some noise about chasing after him to make sure he’s happy, but the letters sent to the Gamgee’s reassure them all is well.

It is purely hobbit comfort that brings about worry about what is planted in the garden.

Though when the Gaffer began to plant Tansy’s, a declaration of war, there was a bit of a hubbub- obviously Bilbo was becoming quite frustrated. Gaffer never said a word though. He planted the flowers and seeds Bilbo sent him, and made sure they looked beautiful.

Someone may or may not of hired a painter to capture the tansy’s waving gently in front of Bag-End. (It certainly wasn’t Lobelia) And that someone may or may not have sent it to Bilbo, rolled up in a river-reed container coated in wax to show him (again, _not_ Lobelia).

Bilbo may or may not have included several rude flowers in his next months seed list.

Poor Gaffer isn’t sure where to plant it all, so he starts twining the flowers up and over the door- It may be a little harder to tend flowers on top of the house, but Gaffer is, as always, a stubborn hobbit and refuses to uproot what he has already planted until it is winter.

He is only a few years younger then Bilbo, but he has many children where Bilbo does not, and the children are soon old enough to help. Lobelia tries a few times to tempt one of the children into working for her (she knows with one look Gaffer won’t) and they refuse.

They all have their fathers blood in them.

She sniffs one day as she walks by the empty smial. It has been a year. The winter snows are melting, the flowers are just barely beginning to bloom, and if she leaves now, she figures that she can arrive back in time for the fall’s harvest.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has no idea what to take with her on a long journey to go to Elevensies, but she packs a bag full of food, some extra clothing, shoulders Grasper that has seen far too little action, tucks her favorite umbrella under one arm and sets off down the road.

She travels with nobody, and feels safe enough to complain about her aching feet crossly to empty air, promise retribution and vengeance on the Hobbit and Dwarf that lived so far away, and kills her first Goblin with a swing of her axe.

It is a lot like killing a pig she reflects dully, and leaves the body where it lies.

She has no wish to cook and eat it despite stated words to the contrary- instead she gathers food as she walks. Berries thought to be unripe but still good, tubers and roots that make a mighty good stew, a rabbit that wanders into her pathway.

The goblins quickly become an annoying footnote in her journey, but she will always keep the memory of the first talking creature she kills.

She doesn’t interact with any of the other traveling groups, preferring to keep to herself. It might be dangerous to wander alone, but she doesn’t trust the companies of men and dwarf traversing the same road either.

In a much shorter (and far less dangerous) journey then Bilbo Baggins journey, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins arrives at the town of Dale. The majestic Mount Erebor looms above, imposing and dark.

(She is completely unimpressed)

( _almost_ )

-~-~-~-~-

The tall elf attempted not to eavesdrop on the Prince Dwarf and his consort. He really did. It didn’t help when they both talked loudly, as if they didn’t care who overheard. “The road connecting the Shire and Erebor is unsafe.”

“Yes, but I should return for harvest time,” The Consort insists. “The biggest festival takes place then, and it would be good to see family.”

The Prince looks sad there for a moment, “Aren’t we your family as well?”

The Consort flounders for a moment, before saying, “Yes, yes, of course but I have just been having the most awful of premonitions that something bad is going to happen.”

The Prince looks worried. “It’s not… anything real bad is it?”

“Unless you count Lobelia-“

The Prince clapped a hand over his Consort’s mouth, peering around with wild eyes. “We do not mention evil things in Erebor. We don’t want to summon them you see-“

Double doors, gigantic and usually close slowly swung open. Heads all around turned as the King, and his princes, slowly grew paler. There was a silhouette in the door, of a figure nearly a foot shorter then the dwarves. There was an umbrella beneath one arm.

The Prince whimpered.

“Bilbo Baggins,” a strong, snappy female voice said, “I came for elevensies.”

The Hobbit has a very blank look on his face, the kind he got when negotiating with Thranduil. The elf felt a prickle of unease at that thought- Hobbits were very much an unknown race. Who knew what their sociality hierarchy was like? Certainly, she didn’t seem to care one whit about the two Kings in her presence.

She brushed by them rudely, heading straight for Bilbo.

The dwarves erupted into furious whispering in her wake. For there, strapped on her back, is a dwarf’s axe. Elf eyes can pick out the unknown runes carved into the metal- and a few scratches that speak of recent use.

One of the dwarves asks plaintively, “Isn’t that Dwalin’s axe? The one he said he gave his One?”

“Impossible. The Chief of Guards falling in love with a hobbit lass like that? She doesn’t even have a proper beard!” Hissed another.

“Then how do you suppose she got it?” Snaps another.

Bilbo clears his throat impressively, catching everyone’s attention to ask very, very delicately, “Lobelia. The road was practically overrun with goblins. How did you get here from the Shire?”

“I walked of course! I have feet you know. And a battle axe.” She sniffs haughtily. “I wouldn’t of bothered coming if I had known your manners would be so lacking.” The unsubtle dig at Bilbo is noticed and many elf and dwarf stirred angrily- Bilbo was a well-beloved figure. Who was this hobbit who came strolling in to insult the well-beloved Hobbit Consort?

“I apologize.” And Bilbo truly was apologizing which wracked up the anger in the room another notch. “I thought that you wouldn’t be coming around anymore.”

“Hah. Don’t think that moving will weasel you out of obligations.” The two Hobbits look at each other, and Bilbo pushes the Prince off of him. The elf finally notices how the Prince is practically clinging to his brother, using him as a shield from the Hobbit.

“Of course not Lobelia.” Bilbo says smoothly, gesturing to a side door. He is abandoning the peace-talks and trade agreements. “Any new recipes you’ve picked up on your travels?”

“Goblin meat doesn’t taste good no matter how you season it.” Is her reply before Bilbo leads her off.

The peace talks end there.

Queasy looking beings instead stumble off, trying to erase the image out of their minds.

And a few dwarves go out to search for Dwalin, son of Fundin, to him that a hobbit woman bearing his axe has arrived at Erebor.

The elf, for reasons he could never tell why later, stayed. His long legs folded into a sitting position atop a tall, round object. Eyes searched the large hallways, as Dwarves and elves both ebbed in and out, two kings looking distinctly put-out about the whole business.

A large dwarf, one that the elf could identify as actually being a little respected among the elves for his completely pragmatic attitude, skidded into the room. On his back, the elf noticed with amusement, was the mate of the axe the hobbit lady was carrying. So this is what the dwarves had been murmuring about.

Dark, heavy eyes surveyed the room, before flickering to where the water-clock slowly trickled the time. It was nearly noon. That oddly enough, seemed to decide the Dwarf, who planted himself firmly in the middle of the room to wait.

Dwarves cautiously avoid him, though the elf could hear whispers snaking their way around the group. Something about axes, the company, Gandalf’s head off, and the proper cooking of dwarves.

These Hobbits may yet be a force to be reckoned with, what with the dwarves being terrified of at least one of them. The elf smiled at the thought, as the water clock trickled directly to noon.

In that exact second, the two hobbits reappear from wherever they had disappeared too. Bilbo Baggins walks with a lit to his step, as if refreshed. Lobelia scowls as every living thing, but when her eyes fall on Dwalin, she steamrolls right towards him.

Dwarf and elf alike quickly realize why she was a terror when an umbrella whipped out smartly to chase away those in her short pathway towards him. She stops, and stared up at him, as Kili and Bilbo reunite, Bilbo’s eyes dancing with renewed life, and Kili’s eyes softening.

The visit of another hobbit has done wonders to lift Bilbo’s spirit, but there is another tension slowly creeping in.

Dwarf man and Hobbit woman stare at each other for a few moments. Each try to stare the other down- or are they evaluating each other? Looking for an opening? The elf can feel himself tense in response, body reacting naturally to what is in the air.

Abruptly Lobelia takes two steps forward, bends Dwalin backwards, and kisses him aggressively on the lips.

The shocked silence that fell on the elves was completely lost in the thunderous applause and catcalls from some of the dwarves, beards waggling. The elf had to ask outloud, “Is this considered normal?”

A young dwarf, with fiery red hair snorted. “It happens quite often. Women do most of the courting. It goes backwards in men’s.”

The elf smiled slightly as he looked the dwarf, the one who wasn’t cheering along with the others. “You are not celebrating with the other dwarves?”

“It’s mostly the women who are cheering, supporting their sister in her pursuit.” The dwarf pointed out. The elf glanced around, to the ones clapping- he couldn’t see any difference between them and the dwarves beside them smiling slightly.

He turned his attention back to the dwarf beside him, smiling slightly. “So then, I suppose there may yet be another marriage?” Bilbo’s marriage had been a mix of Hobbit and Dwarf. It had sent many of the elder dwarves fussing when they thought the elves could not hear, but it had been considered highly unusual. At the very least it was the spare getting married to a non-dwarf, and not the heir.

Thorin had fired them after hearing that comment, the elf thinks.

The dwarf shrugged pragmatically as Lobelia let go, turned on her heel and stalked out of the room with a statement that she would be back tomorrow.

Dwalin was left standing behind, blinking after the silent footfalls pattered away from him. After a few stunned moments, he sprang into action, chasing after her, their axes on their backs matching as he caught up to her. He fell into step beside her, asking about her journey.

The elf blinked as he was called away by his King, his Father.

Legolas, son of Thranduil, glided towards the Elven King as Gimli, son of Gloin, went in the opposite direction. Neither of them remembered the little talk, didn’t know who it was they were speaking too, but perhaps it may have been part of what that softened a dwarf and elf’s heart in Lothlórien.

\---------

Routine quickly settled in between the dwarves and visiting Hobbit.

Once a year, every year, Lobelia would appear in Erebor, axe and umbrella in hand. The times she visited varied- and she always scorned the use of a guard Dwalin offered her. The two talked, and probably did other things, but nobody knew. (They hadn’t, both hopeless romantics at heart) Occasionally Nori disappeared back towards the Shire with her, but the Grand Spy Master of Erebor was busy.

Darkness was rising, Goblins and Orcs growing bolder and nastier. And there were whispers- whispers in the darkness. Whispers of a ring, whispers that a hobbit may have it. Bilbo Baggins. Of the Shire.

The whispers crept through the darkness, settling into the bones of the ones that lurked. _Hobbit. Baggins. Find him. Bring Ring Back._

 _Precious_ screams another. _Where is precious?! THIEF!_

Darkness rises, rising against Rohan, against Gondor. A child who does not wish to be king becomes Ranger instead. Primula and Drogo Baggins drown in the Brandybuck River, leaving behind their tween son to the Brandybuck clan.

He hears tales of his cousin, his crazy cousin who went off and married a dwarf, and of the single Hobbit that used to live next to him and her yearly disappearances. He insists on secretly following her, his cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck follows him, somehow Gamgee’s youngest son gets roped into the whole business, and toddler Peregrin Took sobs for three days straight after being left behind.

They do break into Bag-End to retrieve maps, and set on following after Lobelia, who marches on, bypassing second breakfast, elevensies, noon snack, and many other meals, keeping only to three.

The three of them only manage to make it a short distance following the Sackville-Baggins, before they are discovered. They spend the rest of the trip wondering why they went out on this awful adventure in the first place.

It was kept up until they were at last at Erebor, where Frodo and Bilbo Baggins met for the first time- Kili and Fili were practically swarming the group of Hobbits. Well- they did keep a healthy distance from Lobelia, but the three new hobbits were certainly interesting.

Especially the Gamgee, who kept close to Frodo and was clearly deferring to him, but refused to be… a subject precisely. It was odd, but left untouched. A few more years pass- Frodo occasionally visits, every other year. Bag-End is gifted to the young Frodo as he grows, becoming a repertory for books and scrolls.

Sam happily proclaims himself Frodo’s simple gardener.

Lobelia finally starts accepting Dwalin's guards when she brings the trio, that soon grew to a foursome with Pippin running away to join them, but only when traveling with them. She will never admit that it is her own age that brings her to accept this offer.

Bilbo, blast him and his luck, and his Took heritage, remains looking surprisingly young despite the fact that he is older then her.


	7. Appendix B

_~Some dates have been cut as to preserve space. Parchment does not come cheep these days younglings. Why, in my day we had to go out and cut the trees ourselves-_

_(Incomprehensible scrawl in too small lettering continues on for a space of three pages)_

_Remember that all dates are according to Hobbit Calendars, which may cause discrepancies._

_Year  
3018_

February 4- Frodo, Merry, Sam, Pippin arrives in Erebor. Gandalf arrives in Erebor.  
February 5 – The One Ring is revealed secretly. Four hobbits set off alone back to the Shire  
February 25 – Bilbo is sent to the elves for rest and healing  
February 26 – Nori and Lotho meet secretly to discuss the messenger from Sauron, and Lotho tells him of Saruman’s account in his ledger. He is determined to use this to his advantage. They work out a code, and Nori departs under the darkness of night

March 2 – A messenger from Sauron arrives at Erebor offering one of the Seven Rings in exchange for information about the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins. He is sent packing. 

April 6 – Lobelia Sackville-Baggins chases a dark creature out of the Shire.  
April 7 – Lotho Sackville-Baggins officially splits from his mother, publicly humiliating her. 

June 30 – Frodo and his companions arrive at The Shire. They are told to wait there until Gandalf can reach them. 

July 1 – Legolas of Mirkwood and Gimli of Erebor are sent to Rivendell to report and gather information.  
July 5 – A dark clothed figure warns them to run. They escape that night to go to Crickhollow. Lobelia takes up guard on Bag-End. 

September 23 – The Hobbits decide they cannot wait any longer. They leave for Rivendell.  
September 24 –The Hobbits are lost in the Old Forest and are rescued by Tom Bombadil.  
September 28 – Frodo reaches Bree at night. Gandalf visits the Gaffer. 

October 6 – Frodo is stabbed at Weathertop. 

November 3 – The first coded letter is sent to Erebor, with the last line that all is well in The Shire. 

December 25 – The Fellowship leaves Rivendell at dusk

_Year:  
3019_

January 13 – The Company reaches the West-gate of Moria at nightfall. Gollum begins to trail the Ringbearer.  
January 15 – Erebor and Dale prepare for war. Gandalf falls.  
January 20 – Kili visits Bilbo one last time.  
January 25 – Gandalf kills the Balrog, and passes away. His body lies on the peak. 

February 14 – Gandalf returns to life and lies in a trance.  
February 16 – Farewell to Lorien. Gollum observes the departure. Lobelia and Lotho meet secretly, face to face for the last time in Life.  
February 17 – Gwaihir bears Gandalf to Lorien.  
February 26 – The breaking of the Fellowship  
February 27 – Lobelia Sackville-Baggins observes Men drawing closer in to the Shire, and starts kicking up a fuss. The Tooks prepare their crossbows.  
February 29 – Merry and Pippen meet Treebeard. 

March 1 – Frodo begins the passage of the Dead Marshes at dawn. Entmoot continues. Aragorn meets Gandalf the White. Faramir leaves Minas Tirith on an errand.  
March 3 - Theoden retreats to Helm’s Deep. Lobelia is found prowling the edges of The Shire with dire warnings.  
March 5 – Men arrive in the Shire, and take over Lotho’s home. Lotho sends report, saying all is well in The Shire. Gives warning of future attacks.  
March 17 – Battle of Dale. King Brand and King Thorin Oakenshield fall. Fili is crowned King. The Men and Dwarves take refuge in Erebor.  
March 24 – Frodo and Sam make their last journey to the feet of Mount Doom.  
March 25 – The Destruction of the One Ring.  
March 27 – Bard II and Fili drive the enemy from Dale.  
April 1 – Saruman arrives in the Shire, and takes it over. Lotho is imprisoned in his own houme. Sends information he steals from whispered conversations in coded letters, ending with all is well in the Shire.  
Mid-year’s Day – The wedding of Elessar and Arwen. 

July 2 – Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is imprisoned for speaking out against Saruman. Lotho famously turns his back upon her. A letter is sent to Erebor stating all is well, along with other important information. She is allowed only one meal a day.  
July 5 – Dwalin and Nori set out for Rivendell to go to The Shire. Kili sets out for his husband. 

September 22 - the hundred and twenty-ninth birthday of Bilbo, spent with the remainder of The Company. 

October 30 – Lotho is attacked by Grima Wormtongue and grievously injured. Lobelia remains imprisoned. The Tooks alert the Brandybuck’s and Hobbits begin to get ready to rebel. 

November 1 – Four Hobbits, Dwalin, and Nori arrive in the Shire. Saruman is slain. Lobelia is freed. All Hobbits remark that it is surprising that she can even walk, and Lotho’s injured body recovered. The War of the Ring Ends. 

 

_Year:  
3020_

April 1 – Lobelia Sackville-Baggins passes away. Her will leaves everything except her axe to Frodo. Dwalin mourns.  
April 2 – Nori kidnaps Lotho Sackville-Baggins and brings him to Erebor. All hobbits wish him good riddance. 

 

_Year:  
3021_

September 29 - Frodo and Bilbo depart over the sea. Kili watches his husband go, weeping.  
October 6 - Samwise returns to Bag-End.  
December 29 - Kili returns to Erebor alone.

 

_Thus ends the tales of the Sackville-Baggins, in the Shire, interspersed with notes from The Red Book kept by the Gamgee family for references sake. It is said until both Lobelia and Lotho’s end, they were truly Sackville-Baggins. Nasty, sharp-tongued, and refusing to bow to any force they did not wish too._

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read the full story, on the kink meme, please go here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7169859#t7169859


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